


Destiel Fanfic Season 15, Episode 2: Fresh Mistakes

by reaperlove, Violetlyvanilla



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: AU, Cockles, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, alternate French Mistake verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-06 18:49:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18856969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reaperlove/pseuds/reaperlove, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violetlyvanilla/pseuds/Violetlyvanilla
Summary: Anael transports Castiel to an alternate version of French Mistake Verse where Misha Collins is somehow still alive. There the show Supernatural is in its final season. Castiel must convince the stars of the show to keep going with the series, but Jensen and Misha each have skeletons in their closets.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **=❤=Credits=❤=**  
>  Authors: [GoddessofFanfic](https://Goddessoffanfic.tumblr.com/) and [VioletlyVanilla](https://violetlyvanilla.tumblr.com/)  
> Artist: Reaperlove ([Reaperlove](https://reaperlove77.tumblr.com/))  
> Beta: [Vasse](https://vasse75.tumblr.com)  
>  
> 
>  **About Destiel Fanfic Season 15:**
> 
> Welcome to the Destiel Fanfic Season 15 Project! This series will comprise of 20 episodes (as separate works under the DestielFanficSeason15 collection) posting every Thursday for the next 20 weeks during the hiatus between season 14 and 15. This project is a collaboration between a group of authors, artists and betas. Each week different authors and artists will take part, with various configuration of authors and artists working in teams for each episode. 
> 
> The endnotes will be updated with a link to the next episode once it posts, and you can always see all works in the collection [here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DestielFanficSeason15). Please also consider joining us on tumblr at [destielfanficseason16](https://destielfanficseason16.tumblr.com/) and [destielwritersroom](https://destielwritersroom.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Notes on the series: Destiel is endgame. While this fic is rated for PG-13, later fics in the series will be rated a lot higher, some Explicit. Please read the tags for individual episodes, although there are unlikely to be anything more graphic than canon-level violence.

THEN

After dealing with Chuck’s zombies, the furies Jessica, Eileen and Charlie leave to tend to fixing the narrative elsewhere. Castiel receives instructions for a spell from Anael that transports him instantly, there was no time to even say a quick goodbye to Dean.

NOW

There was no rest for the wicked. Or so the saying went. Which explained why one minute Castiel was in the car with Dean and Sam and the next he was bespelled into Greece. Anael’s spell had worked fast, it also left a minty aftertaste on Castiel tongue.

The theatre loomed dark and enclosed, a smoke machine pumping miasma into the confined space. The gloom made the stage seem much bigger than it is. Castiel watched as the darkness enfolded over the actors skulking backstage. He was not sure why a balcony in the theatre traditionally commanded a higher entry fee than the pits below. It seemed rather strange to allow the audience to look behind the curtain, where the troupe were gatheredin a huddle, the director giving a whispered speech and they bowed their head in supplicant well wishing for the production much like a prayer. Then again, the box was not one of his choosing and he was here as a guest. His companion sat, with eyes fixed to the stage, everytime she moved for an antipasto or a sip of her dry wine, the diamonds and pearls rippled on her silk gown. The tiara on her head winking in the dimness. Anael turned and smiled at Castiel. 

“I was hoping you’d come in black tie, thought the wording of the spell made it clear where you were headed,” Anael sighed, looking at Castiel sitting unperturbed in his trenchcoat. “Michael never let me down when it came to dressing nice for date nights. Though I’ve got to say, his best suit was Dean. Devastatingly handsome devil he was. Though you’re not displeasing to the eyes either.” 

“I didn’t have time to read the fine print,” Castiel said. “We were stuck in a town full of zombies for several days.” 

Anael scrunched up her nose and shifted subtly a little further away. 

An old man walked onto the stage and began to speak in ancient Greek. His face lit only by the stage lights as he eloquently addressed the chorus. 

“I came because you said, and I quote, ‘there is a world ending event’ occurring in another universe which will have profound effect upon this one, and you sent me a photo of the butterfly, what do you know about the Erotes?” Castiel said, a little impatient. “Can we please speak about that rather than listen to an old man yell about the fates.” 

“If Dean was taking you to the theatre, you would be far more forbearing,” Anael tsked. “Imagine this is some C grade horror movie and humanity!Dean is here instead of me. Shall I burp to make the role play more realistic? Now does it feel more homely?” 

“Anael, I do not trust you, your interference which I had thought was help led us on a path that distracted me from Jack’s welfare, brought Chuck’s wrath upon us and now Mary Winchester is dead …” 

“And you were blamed for it,” Anael turned wide sympathetic eyes upon Castiel. “You, a Seraphim, a leader amongst even the host, commander of the only successful garrison to retrieve the righteous man from hell, reduced to Dean Winchester’s emotional punching bag. If this is what loving humanity does to an angel of your calibre, it’s not a fate I wish to try for myself.”

“Then you’ll never know, the great joys of love, so I hear,” Castiel said quietly. “And the great sadness, so I understand.” 

“I can watch Greek tragedies, all the emotional roller coasters, none of the sub drop, courtesy of reality,” Anael gestured to the stage where Oedipus was recounting the accidental killing of his sire. “The horrified faces are fun. So have you...”

“Have I what?” Castiel was terse now. 

He had come to Anael despite his own forebodings on the matter, behind Dean’s back, because somewhere deep down he knew Anael was one of those out of the box thinkers. A trait rare amongst angels. She was the only angel he knew who had survived as much upheaval as he. Had come out of it somehow, her zest for life undiminished. She was deceitful and self-serving in the extreme but her ingenuity was admirable. Her materialism and hedonism made her almost human and he was fond of humans. The actors on the stage, singing and crying and screaming, the audience in the auditorium feeding off the waves of emotion, watching the human suffering and enjoying it. It was cathartic and somehow heartwarmingly safe to see them play at tragedy, to seek the experience, though they knew the tenuousness of their own comfort and existence. What strange impulses humans had to revel in their own frailty. Castiel ate a grape, the burst of flowery aroma and honey sweet juice washed over his palate to help him remember this moment. Anael smiled and offered him a bitter olive which was salty sweet on his tongue like tears.

“Have you known the great joys of love?” Anael asked teasingly. “You know what I am talking about.” 

“I have come to have familial feelings towards some people.” 

“I’m not sure a Nephilim counts as a person.”

Castiel spat out the pip of the olive. “And there is our difference. Jack is family no matter what.” 

“Okay, Castiel Winchester, we all know about you and the love bunker but my question is about romantic love, not familial,” Anael leaned in, eyes sparkling. “What’s Dean like in the sack?” 

Castiel frowned. “He does not wear a sack.” 

Anael laughed, it was a melodic and lively sound, like silver bells ringing in the blackened out balcony. 

“Oh Castiel,” she said with something like empathy, leaning over to settle her elbow on his shoulder, her chin in her palm. “I would have bedded him long ago. Why deny yourself that, it has been what, ten years since you pulled him out of hell and walked with him all over this mortal plane?” 

“I am not denying myself anything,” Castiel looked uncomfortable. “You should have a better notion of personal space and not pry into other angels’ private affairs.” 

“Hardly an affair,” Anael scoffed. “Those are fun, you should try them.” 

“Anael …” 

“Alright, you want to talk apocalypse again?” Anael sighed. “Not even going to wait till the third act? Eager to go home to your boyfriend?” 

Castiel shifted uncomfortably. “He doesn’t know you’re with me? Guess you do know about going behind each other’s backs then.” 

“I am not romantically involved with Dean,” Castiel said in a much louder voice than he had himself anticipated. The actors on the stage tried to carry on with their performance notwithstanding the distraction from the box. 

“Shush, the usher will come and kick us out,” Anael said with a smile. “Alright,I’ve kept you in suspense for long enough. Let me get to the exposition then. As an angel of survival, you know I enjoy being comfortable, and this universe hasn’t exactly been apocalypse free over the past few years or decades. I mean a woman always has to plan for worst case scenarios, such is the patriarchy, so I have quite a few little boltholes. Well, bolthole universes. I have, in my dealings and tradings, obtained some artefacts that allow me to travel around a bit. Think of it as a seasonal holiday, when the Winchesters are here mucking up the world with yet another apocalypse inducing bout of man melodrama, I go somewhere different. There is one place very special to me, my happy place. The world where Supernatural is a beloved long running television fantasy drama and Dean and Sam and you are actors. I think they call it French Mistake verse.” 

“They all died, the show’s creator, the man known as Misha Collins, many innocents,” Castiel said confused. 

“Not quite,” Anael smiled. “Not in my version.” 

Castiel watched as Anael touched the diamond crown banded around her forehead, a rather dramatic looking tiara which only she could accessorise well in a modern setting. It made her look regal, like a queen on her throne as she reclined in her leather seat.

“Well, this artifact allows you to choose any universe you want and create another offshoot. A mirror but distorted, fun house you know. The wearer of the crown gets sent there but of course I am the crown’s master and I alone know the spell to get in and out.” 

“And why would I want to go there?” 

“Because in that offshoot French Mistake verse, Misha Collins, Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki are all very much alive. They have been for the last 10 years, faithfully shooting the show Supernatural. They put their lives on hold in many respects, working hard to please their fans, but now everything is changed. The show is ending, it is their last season. Grand finale.” 

Castiel could not understand why the ending of a fictional show mattered. 

“All the universes exist separate to each other, in their own little droplets, and together the droplets form the waterfall of existence.” 

Castiel stared at Anael. “I’m an angel just like you, of course I know that.” 

“Then you would know that the waterfall has to trickle from some source. God hides his intentions from us, his plans are mysterious …”

“... if such plans even exist.”

“Nihilistic, I like it. There are many Castiels, variants of you, just as there are variants of Dean and Sam. We are all mirrors for one another, a kaleidoscope of things as they were, or ought to be or have been or could be. The Misha in that universe should have died ten year ago, yet he lives. There is something special about him, someone must have cared enough to bring him back. His survival is what sets that universe apart on its own little trajectory, what fractured it from the canon French Mistake storyline. And I am sure you know by now, via your new Furie friends, that the veils are thinning between the worlds. Well, just so happens my own private paradise is very close to this one. So close they are symbiotic. When that show ends this universe ends.” 

“How can that be?” 

“Chuck wrote the Carver Edlund Supernatural book series,” Anael said. “It accurately depicted the lore of the Winchesters right? How do you think Chuck keeps worlds safe? The special worlds that mean a lot, Supernatural verse, the one we live in is embedded in a secret safe place.”

Castiel frowned. 

“So close you are almost there.” 

“We are a show inside a reality which is inside an offshoot French Mistake verse, which is inside your hair accessory…” Castiel sighed. “I think I have a headache.” 

“All the world’s a stage and everyone on it players,” Anael recited. “You know for a guy who was a bit of a player, Shakespeare sure could write.” 

“And when the players get off the stage, the show is over,” Castiel said thoughtfully. “The audience dissipates. Everything ends.”

[](https://picsart.com/i/image-castiel-fanfiction-295731397030201)via PicsArt

“Very good. Very clever Castiel. And such a lovely face too. You know I think you would look pretty in a crown,” Anael stood up, gown swish swashing as she came around behind Castiel. Carefully she took the tiara from atop her rich auburn hair and bore it down over Castiel’s head, settling the glittering band over his brow. “Good night, sweet prince.”

Castiel closed his eyes and the stage disappeared. 

=<3=<3=<3=

The magic in the tiara was forceful and wicked, it left a weird taste in Castiel’s mouth, like scotch and thunder this time. His vision swam until the blurred blobs of red and green swam slowly into focus. Castiel reached for the top of his head and felt nothing there, no way back, of course Anael wouldn’t have given up her portal key, she has probably also read Harry Potter. 

“You’re good man, haven’t drawn a dick on your face or covered your hair in lube,” Dean smiled at him, his eyes crinkling attractively. 

Although that certainly wasn’t Dean. His aura looked completely different and his skin was far more hydrated. He smelt like an expensive mens cologne shop and he was far more freckled than Dean. Is Dean less freckled because his symbiotic universe counterpart had to wear stage makeup or is Jensen more freckled because Dean was less so? The thought hurt even a multidimensional brain like Castiel’s. 

“You fell asleep in your costume again? You know saying the fabric creases give Castiel authenticity isn’t gonna fly now that he’s got his angel wings back,” Jensen’s hand was warm as it smoothed a wrinkle over his bicep. “Geez you’ve been working out? You’re hard as marble. You gotta hook me up with your personal trainer. Who is that now? That hot yoga dude or the lady with definite dom tendencies?” 

Castiel thought that honesty was the quickest option here. 

“I am an angel of the lord, Castiel, from the Supernatural universe which your show has a symbiotic dual-dimensional relationship with. Like the face of Greek theatre, two sides of the same coin. Tragedy and comedy.”

“I’m the comedy?” Jensen grappled at Castiel’s forearm, arching his back to pull him up out of the couch. “I think you’re the comedy Mish.”

“I am not joking.” 

“Oh… really?” Jensen furrowed his brows. “Are those new lines? Fuck they’re really jumping the whale now, French Mistake 2.0? Why, leave the greatness be.” 

“I am not Misha Collins,” Castiel stated. “Although I hear he is alive in this universe.” 

A shadow skimmed over Jensen’s face but he was all sunny grin again within a split second. He really was a very good actor, thought Castiel appreciatively. 

“Prove you’re Castiel and not Misha.”

Castiel smiled fondly at the human, he reached within himself and called upon his grace and manifested his wings. 

“Any minute now.” 

Castiel tilted his head. 

“God that look is so Disney Princess, gets me everytime,” Jensen sighed at the confused expression on Castiel’s face. 

“My wings are not functional here, I can’t even make them appear,” Castiel was disturbed by the discovery. He reached out a finger and nudged at the couch, his knuckle felt sore and the furniture did not budge an inch. “There is no magic in this universe, no supernatural.” 

“Oh and now we’re back to the French Mistake OG call backs.” 

Castiel sighed. “I must prove to you in some other way that I am not Misha, that I am in fact Castiel.” 

Jensen looked at him, dubious. “Is this another one of those pranks where you get me to kiss you Mish because you know we don’t need to be drunk for that.”

“I would never trick you into a kiss,” Castiel’s eyebrows raised. “I had no expectation that this conversation would be headed in that direction.”

“I mean, I know you like it when I freak out everytime we kiss, but seriously dude, just ask.” 

“I have not asked for a kiss.”

“Well, I mean no, but would you mind if I tried it.” 

“I am not sure what you are trying to say,” Castiel growled. “Do you want to kiss or do you not wish to do so?” 

“Yes!” Jensen said clearly and leaned in before Castiel could react. His mouth was sweet and his lips plump and his lip balm smelt like candy. It was warm and wet. 

“Huh,” Jensen wiped at his mouth. “Yeah, definitely not Misha. He’s never not used tongue.”

Castiel stood frozen, his heart hammering in his chest. 

“So, freaking angel huh,” Jensen looked at Castiel quizzically, his voice going down an octave. “Cas?” 

Castiel’s attention whipped into focus, Jensen was suddenly different, Dean-like. 

“Oh yeah, you are the real deal, wait lemme check something,” Jensen grabbed his phone and looked at the screen, swiping through a few apps. “Yeah, Misha just updated his instagram stories from LA. And honestly he hasn’t staged any elaborate pranks lately, he’s been real off you know. So uh I guess you’re an angel.” 

Castiel touched his mouth slowly, his cheeks were on fire. 

“Well, weird things have been happening lately so okay,” Jensen spread his arms out. “Hit me with it.” 

“Michael is dead, Jack ate him, Mary is gone, Dean is sad, Chuck is bad.” 

“Oh, season 14 finale Cas, welcome,” Jensen gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder that was sort of comforting. “Ah this is um, do you know about French Mistake verse? Well this is reality.” 

Castiel shook his head firmly. “Oh this is certainly NOT The Reality. Are you married Jensen?” 

Jensen frowned. “To Misha? No. I mean I haven’t asked and he hasn’t asked me.” 

“Do either of you have children?” 

“Does Jared count as a kid?” 

Castiel smiled kindly. “Not really. He is married though isn’t he?” 

“Yeah, to Gen, that’s your Ruby,” Jensen was ever helpful. 

“I have to tell you that you are inside a alternate universe of the French Mistake episode and the angel Anael sent me here.” 

“Anael? The one played by Misha’s friend, the method actress? The new angel in the scripts? Really?” 

“I .. I am not certain regarding her role here, I suspect there is much more complexity than what she was willing to tell me at play,” Castiel looked at Jensen in a steady fashion. 

Jensen’s aura was different to Dean’s. He had a lovely looking soul, a simple yet abundant soul, sort of rippling like clear blue water, some greys in the shadowy depths but sunlit overall. Nothing like Dean’s aura which was as expansive as a galaxy and full of strange fire. Castiel decided that he liked Jensen, for he represented all that Dean could never be. 

Jensen’s eyes widened, the light surrounding him pulsed soft pink and silver. 

“You’re really Castiel,” Jensen said with a shocked smile, wiping his mouth with his hand. “You’re him, fuck, I’m … I’m a fan.” 

Jensen laughed, his voice getting low and dark again. “I can’t believe I kissed Cas.” 

Castiel couldn’t help but twitch the corners of his mouth up. It was flattering, Dean would never voice such feelings so quickly to a stranger. 

“Oh man, there’s a Dean where you come from? How much is he gonna wanna kick my butt?” 

Castiel shifted, uncomfortable. 

“Are you guys …” Jensen scratched at his head. “Oh jeez what’s that word Misha uses .. pre-slash?” 

Castiel looked ever more confused. 

“Platonic?” 

That Castiel understood, Plato was a useful kind of fellow. He nodded. “I would walk the universes for Dean but yes we are not romantically involved. I am not sure why everyone seems so surprised.” 

Jensen snorted. “Hey no judgement, Misha and I are kind of a work in progress ourselves.” 

Castiel was surprised by the comment, the kiss had made him think otherwise. 

“So you’re here for …” 

“I need to get to know your world, apparently it is ending.” 

“What?’ 

Castiel relayed what Anael had told him and Jensen’s eyebrows climbed ever higher as he patiently listened to the tale. He sat with his legs crossed, taking sips of some tinctured water, he offered some to Castiel and when he tasted it he realised it was flavoured with guava and lemon. 

“You’re saying letting the show end will end Supernatural for you, your whole world?” 

“So I am told,” Castiel sighed. “I don’t know what to believe.” 

“If it wasn’t for the kiss test I would have thought this was a very elaborate plot on Misha’s behalf to convince me to renew my contract,” Jensen pondered. “But no, he would never pressure me like that.” 

“The show is ending because you won’t sign on for more seasons?” Castiel was surprised. “Why?” 

Jensen shrugged helplessly. “Just, a guy’s gotta move on, you know. The last ten years has been great, don’t get me wrong but you know you can’t get stuck in a rut.” 

Castiel followed Jensen’s eyes as his eyeline moved around the trailer. It was a large trailer with warm wood interiors and a huge plasma screen on the wall. The couch was black leather and overpadded for maximum comfort. There were tiny details around the room that Castiel instinctively spotted, the way Dean had taught him to case out the surroundings of a witness. The pot plant in a corner was well tended. The kitchen had a fresh bowl of fruit on display. Photographs from the set pinned up on the fridge door. A chain of greeting cards sat on a faux mantle. The tea towel hanging from the oven had grumpy looking grey winged kittens flying about. It was a homely sort of transience, not a place someone just napped in and went in and out of without a thought. A pile of books littered the coffee table, it was an eclectic selection of find-a-words, poetry and photography magazines. Someone, possibly Misha, had circled the letters JEN DICK on the cover. And as if to get the message across fully, hot pink highlighter doodles illustrated the topic of choice in the margins. 

“So you want the tour?” Jensen stood up. “Um, maybe you better get out of costume. Everyone knows all the Cas scenes have wrapped. So you look sus in that.” 

“Do you think people will suspect I am me?” 

“Oh no,” Jensen said. “But what if the other angels see you?” 

Castiel was taken aback. 

“I mean like uh what if there are dangerous angels that followed you through or this is a trap?” Jensen said flustered. “Like I’ve read these scripts for 14 years, I know how this goes. It’s never just handsome angel visits actor with wing crush and it all ends up hot and steamy, like this isn’t Misha’s fanfic bookmark list. Which you know he totally doesn’t flaunt at me to get me angry or going.” 

“Going? Where?” 

Jensen went a even deeper shade of pretty red. “Here, wear something clashy or unironed okay?” 

Jensen’s hands were fast to pull away at the trenchcoat, his fingers nimble and he certainly wasn’t shy about personal space the way Dean was. His warm hands peeled away the jacket and dress shirt and he blushed when he saw Castiel’s tattooed abdomen. 

“Fuck,” Jensen let out an exhale. “That’s fucking hot and definitely not fake.”

“I should have just shown you my tattoo and scars.” 

“Yeah but where’s the fun in that,” Jensen said before stuttering. “You have scars?” 

“Yes, from Purgatory, many in fact.” 

“Ah, raincheck once I’ve run that one past Misha?” 

“Why would you need Misha’s approval to look at my scars?”

“I dunno, I mean it's not like he runs anything or anyone past me, cause we’re just, we’re friends who … we uh … you know what it’s not really relevant right now.” 

Friends who what? Castiel wondered. Friends who shared a trailer? Friends who kissed? Friends who seem to know each other’s bodies intimately. Was it possible for friendship to work in that manner between humans? As far as Castiel could understand neither Jensen or Misha were in a relationship with anybody else. He would have thought that the two of them may have been … more than friends, but Jensen’s evasive manner made Castiel wonder. 

He ended up dressed in an oversized red knit jacket with puce and tan and orange stripes running down the front. It was too long and bulky for his frame but it was warm and smelt like Jensen. His denim pants were acid wash and bootcut. The buckle over his crotch was shaped into a cowboy hat. 

“Yeah that’s about as Misha an outfit I can pull together without going the full blue puffer jacket and monkey muppet hat,” Jensen grinned. “You look good Cas. I like my fleece on you, Misha liked to borrow it too, it’s warm. Though I suppose for an angel that’s not so important.”

There was something so longing and soft in Jensen eyes that it was almost painful for Castiel to watch the emotions shifting over his features. Longing and sadness and regret. Castiel was a little shaken to see so much of those negative emotions consume Jensen for a minute and then the mask slid back on. 

“Let’s get this show on the road huh?” Jensen said, leading him out of the trailer. 

Jensen gestured to the bicycle leaning against the exterior of the trailer. 

“Misha usually rides around.” 

Castiel gave the contraption a scrutinising look.

“Angels are able to master motor skills with ease,” Castiel said. “But I do not wish to.” 

“No one taught you how to ride a bike huh,” Jensen clapped Castiel on the back. 

“It would be undignified,” Castiel murmured. 

“Yeah, wouldn’t want people to watch you fall and get suspicious,” Jensen said kindly. “Let’s foot it.” 

As soon as they were among the crew, people came up to talk to Jensen. Most of them seemed unsurprised to see Jensen and ‘Misha’ walking around set together. Within a couple of minutes, Castiel saw ‘Sam’ running up to them from the other end of the set, long hair flowing in the blustery wind. Castiel adjusted his mental reference for the man, that was Jared and not Sam. 

“Hey Misha did you miss your flight? Could’ve sworn you said you were catching the red eye to LA last night,” Jared was looking at him hard. Castiel immediately formed the impression that Jared was just as clever as his Sam. 

“He uh, we uh, fell asleep,” Jensen said quickly. “And this morning, Mish slept in.” 

Jared looked at Jensen and gave a friendly sort of shrug. “Okay.” 

Jesen swallowed.

“You guys fuck again?” Jared asked blithely. 

Jensen scratched the back of his neck in a gesture so reminiscent of Dean that Castiel felt the need to speak up. 

“I prefer the term making love,” Castiel said, holding himself and his face very still. 

“You guys promised!” Jared rolled his eyes. “Urgh like I get it you have chemistry and look I ship you guys on the show as hard as anyone, harder, but every time you guys go there I end up listening to you Jensen silent drinking and singing sad sad cowboy songs while you Misha go on some crazy spree and threesome foursome yourself like some sort of declaration of sexual independence. It can’t be healthy for anyone to listen to that much Every Rose Has Its Thorn okay, gives me indigestion everytime I hear Poison.” 

Jensen was looking at his feet now. 

“I don’t know what you guys think you are doing,” Jared continued his whispered tirade. “Like cockles is supposed to be fun and heart eyes and lighthearted, but you guys are so angsty and dysfunctional. I feel like we’re living in an AU of canon cockles.” 

Castiel did not understand most of the things Jared was saying. What he did appreciate was the impassioned concern. 

“Just, forget I said anything, I’m sorry,” Jared softened at Jensen’s painful silence. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t judge, I’m just not dealing. I’m not dealing with this whole ending the show business okay. Jen, what if we’ve made a horrible mistake?” 

Jensen’s eyes were watering when he looked up at Jared. “Hey man, it’s okay, we talked about this.” 

Then Castiel watched as the two co-stars hugged each other not saying anything else at all. When they pulled apart again they both had their game faces on. 

“Misha needs to uh jog for the morning, so I was going to join him,” Jensen said with a cracking voice. “You wanna come?” 

Jared looked at their faces and shook his head. “Nah, I’ll let you two enjoy the run together. Not that many set jogs left.” 

Jensen swallowed. “Okay, thanks Jared.” 

“Don’t fall into a bush and cry fuck,” Jared said hugging Jensen and Castiel with his too long arms. “You guys are the worst. Love you. Fly safe Misha.” 

The set turned out much larger than Castiel had expected. Many more people than he had thought worked on the show. There was definitely a subdued atmosphere, people were happy to see them but they were also a little overly emotional. 

“We broke the news of the show ending not long ago,” Jensen explained. “Everyone’s been real good about it but this is their life, was, for the last 14 years.” 

“They are sad to see you go,” Castiel was panting. 

“Hey, I thought angels could run,” Jensen quipped. 

Castiel frowned, he remembered how deliciously warm Jensen’s knit jacket had felt in the biting Canadian winter. Now he was feeling over hot and his legs ached and lungs were overtaxed. 

“I think,” Castiel huffed as he bent over to take a few deep breaths. “I think I’m mortal here.”

Jensen looked at him with wide eyes. “Fuck that’s no good. You could be killed.”

There was so much fear and worry that Castiel’s attention snapped to focus on Jensen. 

“Is that likely to happen?” Castiel asked. “You look haunted.” 

Jensen shook his head. “No, not at all. Like the closest any of us has had a brush with danger was like Misha getting mugged or something. And he was fine, Jared and I saw it and we decked those guys.” 

“Oh, is that so,” Castiel said, not at all convinced.


	2. Chapter 2

Jensen was going to show Castiel around and introduce him to Richard and he was thinking about introducing him to Rob but realized that was a bad idea, but maybe he could introduce him to Alex. He didn’t know how well that would go though considering the last time Castiel saw Jack… 

“I think it’s time you meet some others. They might be able to help us get you back home somehow. I know that there was a spell that worked last time but I don’t know if it will work again.” Jensen was rambling. He needed to stop that, but he couldn’t help himself. He walked over to a group of people and waved to them.

“Guys, you aren’t going to believe this but… uh this is Castiel, not Misha. I mean because Misha’s not… here on set...and…”

“The real Castiel?” One of them asked. He looked like Gabriel. Castiel missed his brother.

“Yeah Rich. The real one.”

“How did he get here?”

“I don’t know. He just showed up. He told me some things.”

“What kind of things?” Richard asked. 

Jensen rubbed the back of his neck. “He said if the show ends, his world ends.”

“His world ends? Wow…” Richard whistled. “That… that sounds rough.”

Castiel nodded. “Your show is my life, the Winchesters lives...If it ends, we all die.”

Richard looked at Jensen and then he looked at Castiel. He nodded, “Alright, I can help, What do i have to do?” 

Castiel gave Richard a confused smile. “Do?” 

“Want me to strip down to my boxers and streak through the sets? Maybe paint myself blue and bark like an alpaca?” 

“It’s not a GISH prank,” Jensen sighed. “Damnit, I thought you were taking me seriously.” 

“Are you streaming this live to Facebook Collins?” Richard peered at Castiel’s empty hands. “Come on, where are you hiding your phone?” 

Jensen shook his head and pulled Misha along with him. “Forget it, let’s keep running.” 

“He’s an angel from another world here to save the show?” Richard opened his arms wide. “Really, you expected me to fall for that one?” 

Jensen just gave him the rude finger as he dragged Misha away. 

=<3=<3=<3=

Meanwhile back in the Supernatural world, Dean is currently trying not to die; again, for the thousandth time. Sam was taken somewhere and they had left him there, chained up, hanging from the ceiling. They had beat him, and they laughed as they heard him scream.

The demon smiled. “Awwww… is the big bad Hunter Dean Winchester in pain?” He laughed. 

“Well too bad. You’ll be tortured for a while and then you’ll die but first you get to watch your brother die.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “If you touch him…”

The demon rolled his eyes. “Save your pathetic threats. No one is saving you. Not even your precious angel.”

“You’re lying. Cas will come and he’ll save us. Just watch…”

“You don’t sound too sure of yourself Hunter.” The demon was smirking. 

“No one is going to save you, you will just have to accept it.”

Dean shook his head. “Nope, He’ll come to save us.”

The demon rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say Dean.”

Dean prayed again. ‘Cas. come on. Please… I know you’re out there. We need your help.’

Dean didn’t know his prayers would be heard but Castiel couldn’t respond.

Andrew looked up from the dailies being played on the monitor. “Hey Jensen, hey Misha, I thought you’d flown out for LA last night.” 

Before Castiel could offer any artful lies, Jensen stepped in and pointed at the screen. “That looks pretty good, nice DeanCas tension.” 

“Yeah, hope it’ll be the start of the guys getting back into communicating feelings, using their words, being badass partners again,” Dabb rubbed at his temple. “It’s hard getting the guys back into their groove after all we’ve thrown at them. Gotta do it though, the fandom will hate me if I can’t resolve things properly for TFW. The Chuck storyline, good as it was, leaves us a ton of work to do in the script department.” 

“You’ll do a great job,” Jensen said kindly. 

The showrunner grinned broadly. “You know you could save the writers a lot of angst if you renew your contract.”

“Andy,” Jensen shook his head. 

“Gimme three more seasons, I can give you a hell of an arc.”

“Dabb!” Jensen said the producer’s name slowly. 

“Two, one,” Andrew pleaded. “Come on. You love the guys.” 

It was Castiel who stepped in. “I believe he has made up his mind.” 

Andrew shrugged and smiled. “Can’t blame a producer for trying.” 

Jensen tapped him on the shoulder and he and Castiel took off running around the production set again. 

“Come on Cas, I got some more clothes of Misha’s that you can change into. You can take a shower first.”

“That would be nice Jensen. Do you think he’d mind if I wore his clothes? I would like to ”

“No. I don’t think he’d mind at all.”

The two of them go to Jensen’s trailer and he handed Castiel a pair of clothes and showed him where the shower was. He also showed him how to turn it on in case he didn’t know how to work the fancy wall jets that Jensen had specially installed. 

“I’ll be out here if you need me.”

“Thank you Jensen.”

“You’re welcome Cas.”


	3. Chapter 3

The one thing Castiel missed about being human was the sensorial delight of having a shower. How humans can focus on something small and everyday and experience every indulgent sensation associated with a mundane ritual. Jensen’s trailer shower head was state of the art and though he was at first surprised by the horizontal spraying jets, the hot pulsing water soon melted away Castiel’s shock. The lotions and potions Jensen possessed were in ornate glass bottles and reusable canisters, they smelled like fields and grass and the south of France in the spring. Carefully Castiel washed himself and looked skeptically at his growing five o’clock shadow in the bathroom mirror. He is certainly starting to resemble Misha, cut off from his grace in this non-supernatural universe. Castiel wondered how Dean was faring on his hunt, whether he thought of him. Castiel wondered how Dean might have experienced a shower system such as the one Jensen possessed. Then the thought came unbidden and full of question marks about how Dean would have treated as mercurial and vulnerable a creature as Misha. Castiel decided that Dean would have been kind. 

When Castiel exited the shower Jensen was packing up a gym bag full of dirty laundry, unplugging his phone from the charger in the wall and generally tidying up the trailer. He gave Castiel a friendly smile, his eyes sliding longingly over Castiel’s naked torso and lingering over the tattoos and scars once more. There was desire there, that much was obvious, but Castiel didn’t think it was a personal sort of desire. It was like moonlight, cool and soft, a reflection of some other abiding love. There was darkness too, somewhere hidden beneath the stunning mask.

“So it’s shooting break, two days off, the principal cast goes home, skeleton crew grabs filler shots,” Jensen passed a stack of cleaned and ironed clothes to Castiel, trench coat included. “I sent everything off to be dry cleaned but uh I do have more of Misha’s clothes if you wanna wear those.” 

“I do not think that what I am investigating will be found on the set in your absence,” Castiel accepted the trench coat with a nod of thanks. “I suppose I could ...”

“You wanna come home with me Cas?” Jensen asked in a rush. 

“People would not find it strange that your co-star goes home with you?” 

“People can shuddup,” Jensen said belligerently. “Misha and I shared a serviced apartment back in the day, and he still doesn’t keep his own place in Vancouver.” 

Castiel inclined his head, studying Jensen. 

“I mean it's his place too, we went halfsies on a couple of things.” 

Castiel was not familiar with the cost of real estate around the Vancouver harbour, he imagined a largish figure that most people could not simply go ‘halfsies’ on like a shared meal in a diner. The ‘things’ Jensen mentioned in such an offhand manner turned out to be a waterside condo with its own pier right on the water. A sizeable sailing boat was moored, the rather fanciful name Seapala painted on her stern. 

“I wanted to call her baby but the name was already registered and Misha got his hands on the registration forms,” Jensen unlocked the condo door.

It was nothing like what Castiel expected. Airy, bright, full of white walls and well furnished if a little impersonal. There were two bedrooms and an office, a smallish living room with panoramic views of the harbour. The kitchen looked like the microwave was its most used feature and there was only mineral water and beer in the fridge. Nothing perishable. 

“You and Misha live here?” Castiel tried not to look judgemental. Dean’s room at the bunker alone had more personality than this blank space. 

Jensen handed Castiel one of those dark green bottles that referred to some mountain water factory or another on the label. “Misha decided not to have a residence in Vancouver, since he only likes to come here when he has scenes to shoot. Usually he stays maybe a night or two on top of his usual shooting schedule, the rest of the time he’s in LA and attending cons all around the world. Most nights we shoot till late anyway and he crashes in the trailer. The room that gets the most use in this place is the garage, our motorbikes are in there and so is Misha’s bike. Mostly when we have a couple of days off between shooting blocks, we hang out on the boat.” 

Jensen started to blush for no reason that Castiel could ascertain. “You wanna come check out baby no. 2?” 

Jensen’s demeanour changed completely as they stepped onto the pier. Jensen outdoors in the twilight was more Dean-like than Castiel had seen him before. Sure the city skyline in the background wasn’t so familiar but that profile etched out in the glow of lights and the scent of the warm leather jacket Jensen had pulled on made Castiel nostalgic for home. 

“Mind your head,” Jensen leapt onto the steps at the tail end of the boat with an athletic jump. 

Castiel, without the assistance of his wings, stepped on elegantly. The yacht barely moving in the water. There were neatly hung ropes and the shape of rolled up sails overhead. A lone solar powered light gleamed at the front of the vessel, illuminating the front of the boat in warm golden hues for a few feet. There was a mirror boat reflected in the water, soft swirls of light and indigo rippling together. Jensen led Castiel down into the interior of the ship, where a self closing hatchway served as a door. A flight of scant steps took them into a cosy dining/working area. A table built into the hull with benches on either side. A gulley kitchen with everything neatly clipped to the walls, and a built in self-contained automated aquaponic system sat in front of the window, filled to the brim with basil, coriander, mint and oregano. 

“Misha would have liked to have a cat but we also wanted the place to ourselves, didn’t want to hire any caretakers to come in and feed the cat,” Jensen murmured, showing the rest of the interiors to Castiel. There were two rooms on either end of the boat. One was filled with a double bed, built in bookshelves lining all of the available wall space beneath the row of front windows. The other was filled with built in seats, comfortably stacked with mounds of pillows in every texture and material all in earthy warm colours of red and ochre and geometric patterns. There were guitars and miscellaneous instruments, a nook for a state of the art portable sound studio and an old fashioned record player. 

His and his rooms, with one bed in the whole place. Castiel sat down at the dining table and watched as Jensen pulled food out of the well stocked bar bridge. 

“I’m still on low carb for the shoot,” Jensen said apologetically. “But the eggs are fresh and I think I got some smoked chicken in here.” 

Castiel helped Jensen wash the mound of fresh clipped salad greens and eagerly ate the meal placed in front of him. It was a quinoa salad with pomegranate seeds sprinkled across the top like ruby jewels. 

“This is certainly different to Dean’s cooking,” Castiel drank some more mineral water, out of a marine blue glass bottle reportedly from Italy this time. “But it is also delicious.” 

Jensen looked delighted at the praise. “Misha’s the cook usually, he makes a mean stuffed mushroom and the things he does to kale oh my god they taste like they should be illegal.”

There is very little room to spare inside the boat, so they were constantly in each other’s personal space. Similar to those small motel rooms that Dean and Sam stayed in, but with everything scaled down and compacted. Castiel could imagine the days and nights Jensen and Misha spent inside the comfortable anonymity of this vessel, orbiting around each other through the rituals of eating and sleeping and washing. There were fishing rods attached hooks on the wall. A desk with painting supplies affixed to the tabletop. Everything was pinned down, or nailed, or strapped in securely, all the small minutiae of life, properly categorised, treasured, hoarded. 

After the meal, Jensen played a couple of records to Castiel. 

“Is that ....” Castiel could not help the awe in his voice. “That sounds like Dean singing!” 

Except Dean’s karaoke style was more on the side of theatrics than tunefulness and though Castiel always thought he did a wonderful job of reading the lyrics, Jensen’s songs were a whole different type of divine. When Jensen did the classics, he performed them in such a gruff voice that it was imbued with drama, he sounded like he was channelling Dean. There were other songs too though, sad melancholic tunes that were bitter and sweet at once. Urbane melodies and folky vocals echoed back and forth between the wooden walls creating an acoustic that was all encompassing. Jensen played the songs to Castiel shyly, retiring the records and switching over to strumming on his guitar, singing in a low quiet voice that made Castiel feel human drunk on plain water. It was easy, with lights turned down low, to imagine this was Dean. A Dean unassailed by fate and still full of hope. A Dean who longed for his company, who would do anything to accommodate him. 

“You should get some sleep,” Jensen put down his guitar and offered his hand. 

“Does Misha ... does he go back to the apartment when the boat is docked?” 

Jensen looked taken aback by the question, his cheeks turning pink. “He um that’s Misha’s room with the books.” 

Jensen led Castiel by the hand and led him to the front room, the one just under the mainsail. He indicated towards the left side of the bed. “That’s where Misha usually spreads out. And I uh, I crash just here on the right.”

Castiel nodded seriously. “If it is not too much of an imposition.” 

They brushed their teeth together in the tiny ensuite. Then Castiel and Jensen undressed each on their respective side of the shared bed. They laid, stiffly on their back, awkwardly beside each other for a few minutes until Jensen sighed. 

“Hey, I um was wondering, what season are you from?” 

Castiel understood the question implicitly. For Jensen he was a fictional character living out the timeline of the show’s series. 

“Jack and Mary are gone,” Castiel says carefully. 

“Oh, so you’re up to date,” Jensen says in a soothing voice. “Hey, I um, I wonder if it would be okay to give you a hug.” 

Castiel turned his head to regard Jensen who was looking at him with knowing eyes. The starlit sky reflecting in his irises in the absence of an interior light. “Been a rough season finale is all. I wanted to hug Cas so bad saying some of those lines to him.” 

“I’m real to you, aren’t I?” Castiel wondered aloud. “You weren’t even all that surprised to see me when I showed up in the trailer because really I’ve been in your head for ten plus years? You’ve lived bits of Dean’s life, however make believe and to you I’m as real as Misha.” 

Jensen blinked slowly and reached out his fingers to stroke Castiel’s cheek. “Am I as real to you?” 

“You are flesh and blood and your soul is vivid,” Castiel said with certainty. “My Dean through a mirror brightly ... but you are not Dean.” 

Jensen flinched and it was hard to see the look of hurt across the actor’s face. So Castiel rolled away onto his side, away from him. 

“You’re right, I’m not Dean,” Jensen said, his voice steady. “But I understand him. I empathise with him. And I can tell you that if he was here and if he could he would do this.”

Jensen’s arms slowly and carefully edged towards Castiel. “May I Cas?” 

And there was just the right edge of deep gruffness to that voice, Castiel closed his eyes and sunk into the embrace. He found himself grabbing hold of Jensen’s hand, the fingers too tapered and the knuckles too delicate, the skin and flesh less rough and tough than Dean’s. The gun callus or twisted pinkie finger. The nails nicely trimmed and filed neatly. Not bitten and chewed like Dean would never admit to doing to his own. Comforting despite the many differences. 

“I’m sorry Cas,” Jensen said in Dean’s voice. “Sorry for all you’ve been put through, sorry I’m such a dumbass, sorry if you feel alone. You’re always in my thoughts, you’re everything good in the world.” 

Castiel squeezed his eyes closely shut, he squeezed Jensen’s hand in his. His face was wet with tears. 

“Believe me, he wants to say these things to you,” Jensen said. “Blame it on being human, let out it.” 

Castiel shuddered and a little sigh came out of his throat and more salty tears filled his open mouth. 

“I get Misha to cry it out like this when the dreams are bad,” Jensen said. “It makes him feel better. I hope it helps you too.” 

“Who’ll help you? Your soul is unfulfilled,” Castiel blurted out, far too tactless as he dealt with the flood of emotions. 

Jensen laughed softly, dismissively. “I got a lot of things in this life, a career I love, a show I love, a man I love. And if those loves of mine slip in and out of my life, having them however momentary is worth it. The nights Misha is here, they’re like beacons on my horizon. I think about those nights and those days in the sun and I have no regrets.”

Though his voice sounded full of regrets. 

=&=&=&=

Castiel awoke to his own face staring down at him from the ceiling. The wood panelling were covered with polaroids of people from the set, Jensen and Jared and Misha. There were hand sketched portraits and colourful postcards, pages of scripts with corrections pinned up. He noticed in the morning sunlight the memorabilia interspersed with the many paperbacks lining the walls, surreal figurines, small items of props magpied into a collection, an angel blade that was very blunted and even a rubber Colt with a large headed Dean doll sitting on top of it. Jensen was asleep, nestled up into Castiel’s side, his face open and flushed with perspiration from the heat of their bodies. The cabin was chilly but the bedding was thick goose down and within their voluminous folds Jensen’s legs were entwined with Castiel’s. Castiel held still and breathed very shallowly, his head felt light and buzzing as Jensen rubbed something fleshy and firm into his hip. 

“Mish,” Jensen whispered into his ear. “Too light. Much.” 

Castiel tried to extricate himself. 

“Mmnot yet,” Jensen muttered. “No set. Sex. We should.” 

“Jensen!” Castiel shook the man’s shoulders firmly. “I am not Misha Collins.” 

Jensen’s eyes snapped open and he crabbed backwards across the quilt like a frightened sea creature. “Uh, wait, Castiel? Not a dream, Castiel?” 

“No.” 

“Oh,” Jensen let out a breath, he looked down at his own crotch, not that there was anything to see given all the bedding, but he still went red. “I pressed wood on an angel.” 

“If it makes you feel any better, once when Dean was very drunk from karaoke and I helped him to his room ...” 

Jensen nodded rapidly. “Oh yeah, we all know how those evenings end up.” 

Castiel frowned. “With him passed out on his bed and me in the living room doing research with Sam.” 

Jensen was lost for words. “Okay ... not how it goes around here but okay.”

Castiel kept staring. 

“You guys don’t have sex like ever?” Jensen mouthed the last word again incredulously. “I’m not talking about a sexual relationship, like we have an understanding that sometimes we share a bed and maybe we have sex a couple of times a week and we buy groceries together but like its not a relationship. I just mean sex. Drunk sex. Casual sex. I don’t know post hunt celebratory sex?”

“I ... we...” Castiel stumbled over his words. “Is it in the script? Perhaps something that’s edited out and not for public consumption?” 

“Edited out? It’s codified, written in as subtext,” Jensen looked grumpy. “Negative space.” 

“Not a dimension I am familiar with,” Castiel explained helpfully. “You see there are multiple universes that are linked together and the veil between them is thinning...” 

“Oh my god that is like the worst season arc ever,” Jensen laughed. “You’re telling me you’re from a universe where you and Dean don’t ever fuck, have never fucked, won’t ever fuck? That such a sad world exists?” 

“Forever is a very long time,” Castiel said carefully. “An eternity in fact.” 

“Even for an angel,” Jensen was thoughtful as he stepped out of the bed, his back to Castiel. “You know I should tell Misha you’re here. I mean we’re not each other’s keeper but ...”

“This ship, it belongs to you and Misha,” Castiel said. “I am an interloper.” 

“No, trust me if Misha found you or Dean for that matter, he would be all over it, you guys, I mean he’s not like a sex maniac but he’s very expressive with his body. I’m not phrasing it well.” 

“You love him,” Castiel said simply. 

Jensen winced. “Misha is life okay. Like he’s really really alive. And he lives everyday like its his last.” 

“That’s a dangerous way to live.” 

“He’s not hung up on boundaries.” 

“Boundaries protect people during social interactions, so I am told.” 

“Quit it, quit giving not-you such a hard time, did you pick that up from Dean?” 

Jensen looked regretful as soon as the words left his mouth, Castiel just nodded. “Of course.” 

Jensen sighed and ducked into the ensuite, muttering “So freaking in character.” 

Castiel laid back and stared at the ceiling blankly. Not really paying the polaroids much attention. Misha in sunlight. Misha in the rain. Misha drinking tea. Misha smelling flowers. Jensen on a horse. Jensen on a quad bike. Jensen in Vegas, Misha as Elvis, a woman wearing a toy veil. Wait. 

“You married her?!” Castiel bolted upright, peeling the polaroid off the ceiling. 

Jensen poked his head out. 

“This woman!” Castiel shoved the photo in his face. “Tell me everything about her.” 

=&=&=&= 

Jensen had to go up for some air. Castiel followed him on deck and watched quietly as Jensen unfurled some sails and with expertise took the boat out of the harbour. Though his mood was pensive and he was single handedly doing all the sailing, Jensen was an excellent sailor. The vessel cut through the water serenely and within half an hour they were in a quiet stretch of water, the far off shoreline emerald green and peaceful. 

“You’re saying our friend who plays Anael, character actress who’ll only ever let us call her Anael, is in fact the angel Anael.” Jensen said drily. “Well that sounds straightforward.” 

Castiel nodded. 

“Well that’s dumb like she couldn’t even be bothered coming up with a less angelic name? Anna. Annalise. Danielle?” 

“You never questioned the fact that she wanted to be known by her character name? That didn’t seem strange to you?” 

“No, of course not, we have a Bobby Singer on the show. A weird first name’s not going to raise that many eyebrows. Besides, I thought maybe she flirted with one of the writers and got them to name her character after her. Like she’s pretty method, believes in all the supernatural stuff and everything.” 

Castiel stared at Jensen. “It is very important that you explain exactly what supernatural things Anael talked about.” 

Jensen went shifty eyed, he twisted a knob frantically to no effect on the course of the boat whatsoever. 

“We’ve known her for years. Like before we shot French Mistake. Just after season four. She was an extra, played a Halloween witch. Then she had some monster roles, when they needed a female shape. She freelances so she’s not always available. For a while there she was pretty close to Misha but her and I we went on a couple of dates.” 

Castiel’s jaw twitched. “She had a thing for Michael when he was using Dean as a vessel. I am not surprised she tried to enter into a dalliance with you.” 

“She’s beautiful,” Jensen said without hesitation. “And kinda weird. I really liked her and Misha was kind of going through a phase at the time. Lots of partners, we were going through a rough patch to be honest. I dated her until the night that photo was taken in Vegas.” 

“What happened.”

“Misha was Elvis and he was joking he’ll officiate a marriage ceremony because he paid like $5 online for a certificate and we were in Vegas and so she got the toy veil and we went to a church and then ...” Jensen sighed. “Then Misha took the veil off her head and played with it and he kind of put it on his head and I was really drunk. I ... I kissed him instead when he said ‘you may kiss the bride’ and well we ended up sleeping together again and I just didn’t feel right dating her while wanting him. She took it real well, said we’d always be friends. And she been in and out of our lives ever since.”

“And has she been a good friend?” 

“Yeah, she has, when Misha had his accident, I was ... I fell apart, she helped me big time.” 

“Accident?” Castiel could see in the far horizon a growing gloom of thunderclouds. “The mugging?” 

“It was real bad okay, not just a snatch and run. There was a prop involved, one of those angel blades. Misha ... Misha was stabbed in the gut,” Jensen’s voice trembled, the sky darkened. “He almost died.” 

“You said he was fine, you said it was just a mugging,” Castiel was bewildered. 

“I lied,” Jensen’s face was tormented. “I’m an actor, I lie for a living.” 

“You are an honest man,” Castiel said firmly. “And lying is just a behaviour, it serves a purpose, what is your purpose in lying Jensen?” 

“I don’t like to talk about it. I now Misha never really got over it. I downplay it because ...” Jensen drew a shuddering breath and lifted his wide green eyes to look into Castiel’s as if for strength. “It broke my heart when I thought I’d lost him.”

Water droplets fell on the back of Castiel’s hand. He raised his eyes to look at the sky, puzzled, the rain clouds though threatening were still some ways away. Then he realised the raindrops were warm. Jensen was crying. 

“Anael helped me get him back, it was weird and it didn’t feel right, but I did it and it was worth everything. Still worth it.” 

“What did you do?” Castiel asked, alarmed. “What was the price?” 

Jensen opened his mouth but no words came. He flung himself at Castiel, grabbing hold of his trench coat, buried his face into Castiel’s chest and sobbed. “I’m sorry Cas please don’t ask me anymore. I’m dealing with it okay. Forgive me.” 

Castiel’s anger melted away into concern. He placed his arms around Jensen, though it felt like hugging Dean. He shushed him gently. “Of course. Always.” 

=&=&=&=

“She has meddled with their world far more than she let on,” Castiel said to the ocean. “Dean, I know you can’t hear me but be careful where you are.” 

He was talking to the ocean in front of him. If the veils were thinning, who knows, maybe Dean was right there in front of his nose. Castiel’s fingers twitched but he grasped only air. Jensen was busy sailing the boat down a course that he alone recognised. 

“We’ll be in a mobile reception area in a few minutes,” Jensen rushed over, waving his phone. “I’ll call Misha then.”

Castiel straightened his tie and allowed Jensen to fastidiously compose the framing. 

“Make sure you move around and answer questions so he knows you’re not like CGI or something,” Jensen urged. 

“I can’t be an acronym I don’t know the long hand for,” Castiel said primly. 

“Nice, very Cas,” Jensen winked. “Okay, got the signal.” 

It was not a perfect signal. The call was picked up after a few long rings but the screen remained black. There was a lot of background noise. The sound of movements and harsh breathing. A woman whimpering and then grunting. When the connection improved at last Misha appeared, he was in a sweat soaked t-shirt half ripped off his body and short of breath. 

“Mish?” Jensen asked. “Um ... I was just calling to tell you that Castiel ... wait is that Anael?” 

Misha tilted the screen. “Not a great time Jen. You wanna facetime later? I just gotta take care of her, I mean something.” 

“Fuck Mish like really?” Jensen gave him a look so pained even Castiel winced. “God, you’re covered in marks and bruises!” 

“We’re um rehearsing a surprise fight scene? Super secret season 16 script?” Misha grimaced. “You buying that Jen?” 

Jensen looked heavenward and said through gritted teeth: “Whatever Mish, I don’t give a fuck, Cas is here. Actual Castiel, When you decide to come and meet him, please cover up the love bites on your neck!” 

Castiel waved dutifully when Jensen flipped the screen around. 

“I am not a CGI,” he stated. 

Misha hung up as Anael let out a long impassioned scream. 

=&=&=&= 

Jensen sat at the nose of the boat, his feet dangling out under the railing. 

“I am not very good at talking about feelings, the only human I am all that close to does not, as you know,” Castiel placed a hand on Jensen’s shoulder. “But I am more than capable of listening to yours.” 

“It’s my fault, I’m not right for him,” Jensen rested his forehead on a thick rope, the twists leaving a pink mark over his brow as he leaned in hard. “He’s a free spirit. Had an unconventional upbringing. He’s so authentically original. And I’m just not like that. I wanna have one person to love and hold and spend my time with. And I want it to be him. And I want him to want me, and only me. Even though, I know, that’s just not him.” 

“Maybe he does want to be with only you,” Castiel said thoughtfully. “Maybe he is afraid.” 

Jensen looked at Castiel with disbelief. 

“He is me, however different, in essence we are connected,” Castiel explained patiently. “You may find this difficult to believe but I do, from time to time, feel a smidge possessive when it comes to one Dean Winchester.” 

Castiel allowed himself a small smile as Jensen scoffed. “My jealousy, my will to protect Dean, has led me to make many mistakes.” 

“Godstiel, Season 8 arc, yeah I get it.” 

“I do have a profound fondness for Dean,” Castiel swallowed. “That I am willing to admit.”

Jensen looked up sharply, the sadness in his eyes gone and replaced by burning fury. “Bullshit Cas, that is so much cow poop! Profound fondness? That’s not the tagline! Never has been! And if you think you’re possessive of Dean I can tell you he’s the fucking same back! I play Dean and I know how Dean feels about his Castiel!” 

Castiel stared at Jensen. “That’s your interpretation ...” 

“No Cas,” Jensen smirked. “Not even close. That’s how I’ve played him, that’ how I bring him to life. It sure isn’t platonic!” 

Castiel could feel the strange butterflies stirring in his stomach as Jensen grabbed his hands and stared into his eyes. 

“Ten fucking years, the destiel ship has sailed, and I am telling you now, the series is primed for a change in your world. If your world will go on after our show ends, I want to know that you’ve gone back and learnt from this world. That change happens and for the better. I want you and Dean to change our relationship it is past time!” 

Castiel licked his lips. “Jensen, according to Anael, my world ends when your show does.” 

Jensen blinked.


	4. Chapter 4

“The first time we had sex was not long after he came back,” Jensen stared at his hands, I hadn’t seen him for weeks and all I had were these wild stories and rumours about what he had been up to in LA and I just, I was so mad at him.” 

Castiel looked at Jensen with a sombre expression. “What do you mean when you say he ‘came back’?” 

Jensen flinched, shaking his head: “Please don’t ask me that. I’ll tell you but just right now I can’t.” 

“You would rather speak of sexual intercourse?” Castiel said understandingly.

There was a red taint to Jensen’s cheeks. “Mish likes it when I do, some things you don’t need words for.” 

“You and your fellow actor engage in sexual encounters,” Castiel swallowed, a fetching shade of pink rising to the surface of his skin, making his eyes look aqua blue next to the sparkling waters. “You do so frequently?”

“The first time, we drove out and got a hotel and I don’t think we left for days,” Jensen laughed softly. “It was so good, Mish gets an idea into his head and he’s real competitive and so am I and … we had to change rooms when we broke the bed.” 

Castiel sucked in a quick breath. Jensen looked at his darting glance and smiled, placing a reassuring hand on Castiel’s elbow. 

“Guessing you and Dean are pre-slash?” 

“What?” Castiel’s confusion made Jensen chuckle. 

“It means you guys haven’t had sex yet,” Jensen muttered, giggling as he pressed his shoulder into Castiel’s. The water shimmered beneath their feet, Jensen’s short rode up high and his upper thighs were covered in strawberry coloured freckles. His naked feet dangled next to Castiel’s white dress socks. “Misha made me read all this literature on fanfiction, says it’s nice to see our characters in media studies discourses.” 

Castiel was quiet for a while. Jensen couldn’t quite get past the completely different vibe the angel exuded. He looked different to Misha too. His hair a little more groomed, his skin less tanned, his complexion a little more flawless. As if Mish is in full makeup and lit by blue toned lights, the demeanour, the stillness, the rigidness of Castiel’s spine set them apart. There was also something wonderfully familiar though. The warmth that exuded from them, the way locks of unruly hair always stuck up a little when there was the faintest breeze, the ocean eyes. It was nothing like when Misha played Castiel. It felt different, it was like some quintessential part of Misha coming to the fore without all the weight of experience. Jensen knew that Castiel had his own preoccupations, he had read the scripts of course, kept a closer eye on Cas’ storyline than Dean’s sometimes. Gone in to bat for the angel couple times. And not because he was afraid of losing Misha’s affections, or having his lover’s part reduced or made trivial in the show. It was for Cas and Cas alone because Dean would want that. Castiel was working himself up to something, his throat working as he tried to spit out the words, it was disarming to see him to cautious when the angel had stumbled into this world fearlessly for his friends. 

“How did it start?” Castiel bit his lip. “How did you guys begin to make love?” 

Jensen felt an overwhelming sense of fondness as he heard Castiel’s phrasing, he was sorry he had to tell him the truth. 

“We don’t make love,” Jensen said. “We fuck, that much Misha made clear.” 

Jensen sighed when Castiel just stared at him. “Alright, I gotta drink if I’m going to tell this story.” 

They settled in the music room with a bottle of craft beer for Jensen and a cider for Castiel. The boat swayed gently as they clinked their glass bottles. 

“It started with orgies, just Jared calling me up all concerned about what Misha was up to. The stories going around about him partying too hard even by Hollywood standards. I wasn’t going to do anything about it but then one night, about a week after he came back from the uh accident, he called me up. Drunk as a skunk, saying he didn’t have that much time, that he wasn’t going to let his life pass him by. You know, all that nihilistic crap, so I took a day off production, flew over, grabbed him and made him come back to vancouver with me. Put him in my trailer and told him to sober out and I knew if he was at work he’d behave himself. He listened to me, much to my surprise, stayed put in the trailer, behaved himself around the set. He wasn’t right though. Didn’t want to step foot onto the set, had to leave the lights on to sleep. I realised how far gone he was when I heard him crying in his sleep, just screaming and begging for his life. I knew then that he remembered everything, that how I brought him back didn’t erase the trauma of his … experience. He was self medicating with alcohol and drugs and sex, so when I took those things away from him he struggled.” 

Jensen could see Castiel’s flickering uncertainty. 

“But then you know he got better. He hung out in my trailer for a week and he kind of healed, you know mentally, we slept together. I mean I didn’t have sex with him. I was just sleeping with him. I left the door between my bed and the couch open and when he was having nightmares I’d go and wake him up and make him a warm drink or something. And then we watched tv and he’d fall asleep in my lap and then it was cold and I figured we might as well watch the flatscreen in my room and my bed is huge and we were just hanging out and then after a couple of nights he turned to me and I’ll never forget the look in his eyes. He said ‘you only live once’. And I said ‘that’s not something you gotta think about too much. And he said ‘I’d be a real dumbass if I live twice and don’t do this’. Then he hugged me and … well you don’t need me to draw you diagram on how cuddling works.” 

The wide eyed look Castiel gave him made Jensen laugh and wonder if a diagram might actually be instructional for the angel. The thought came unbidden that there were a whole bunch of tricks he had learnt from Misha that would give Castiel a whole new perspective on the human experience. They had the same biological bodies right, with the same sensitive spots, or would it be different for an angel? Would Castiel be hotter? Stronger? What would he smell like? 

“Jensen, what are you thinking about?” 

“Thinking I need another beer,” Jensen blushed he was thinking about having sex with Misha which didn’t happen until the end of Season Five, he stood up to tuck his empty bottle into the recycling. “How about you?”

“I was indulging in a sexual fantasy,” Castiel blurted out, he pressed his lips between his teeth immediately. 

Jensen raised an eyebrow and as casually as he could, got up and grabbed more drinks for them. It was starting to rain again, the interior of the boat warm and softly lit in the gloom. The weather had been going real strange. Good thing they weren’t far from shore and she was sturdy boat with plenty of state of the art equipment to make her weather any kind of storm with ease. 

“You wanna uh tell me about it?” Jensen didn’t look Castiel in the eyes, he let the angel gulp half his drink in one go, knowing from his understanding of the canon that it would barely have any effect on Castiel. 

“I was imagining having sex with you,” Castiel murmured. “And … and Dean.” 

“Misha’ll be pissed he’s not invited,” Jensen said in a low voice. “Cause that’s what I’d be fantasising about, you and Mish together, with me, on me.” 

Castiel sat down abruptly, tugging his trenchcoat closed over his lap. He finished his drink in one long suck and asked for another.

“You wanna slow down there angel eyes?” Jensen asked as Castiel grabbed three bottles at once, another cider, a kombucha and a vodka premix. “That ginger one is just probiotic drink. You know you don’t need to be intoxicated to have sex right? I don’t know what kind of example Dean has set for you…” 

“I thought it made things less socially awkward afterwards,” Castiel knitted his brows together. “This I deduced from second hand observation. All alcohol has minimal effects on me.” 

“So you’re an expensive date,” Jensen said with a smile. “You’re classy Cas.” 

“Are you assuming the character of Dean?” Castiel asked. “I noticed your speech patterns are changing.” 

Jensen grinned, a bright loose nihilistic grin that he had often used for Dean. “Maybe. That what you want Cas?” 

The shudder that went up Castiel’s spine made Jensen straddle his lap in one smooth movement, gently plucking the bottles from his hands and setting them down safely on the kitchen table. 

“Is this okay?” Jensen settled his weight on Castiel’s thighs, there was a lot of clothing in the way, but Castiel’s interest was self-evident. “You can call me Dean if you want.” 

Castiel made a sound somewhere between astonishment and a whimper. 

“You can learn what it might feel like, get used to the idea, then you can do it with real Dean and real feelings,” Jensen said, stroking the back of hand over Castiel’s cheek. “Nice and safe and problem free.” 

“You are lonely,” Castiel stared into Jensen’s eyes. “You miss him, you have him but you don’t and you want him. Not the physical interactions, though you relish those, but heart to heart and soul to soul. You love him. And this is your despair.” 

Jensen’s eyes glossed over with tears but he leaned in and kissed Castiel on the lips, his cupid’s bow imprinting hard over Castiel’s upper lip, his teeth scraping gently over the sensitive bottom lip, his tongue soft and ticklish on Castiel’s palate. Castiel’s hand cupped Jensen’s jaw, the thumb caressing compulsively over the line of bones. Jensen pressed forward a little harder, gluing their torsos and hips together. 

He could tell by the way Castiel was responding - the sudden pressure on the back of his head from long clutching fingers, the firmness pressing against his, the way Castiel’s muscles tightened and pressed authoritatively over his - that the angel was getting into it. And Jensen did for a giddy moment revel in the magic of kissing Castiel, his lungs filling up a heavenly feeling of joy. Castiel was murmuring his approval each time Jensen opened his mouth on a gasp, biting into the quickening pulse at Jensen’s throat. He was pressed into the dining table, flat on his back, his knees hooked around Castiel’s hips, clever fingers pulling at the waistband of his shorts. 

“Stop moving Dean,” Castiel grabbed hold of one hipbone and pinned Jensen into complying stillness. 

“Yeah, yeah Mish,” Jensen gasped, legs splayed, hip writhing. 

“I am Castiel, pay attention.” 

Jensen whimpered and shuddered, his knees curling up and his groan echoing off the walls. “Fuck!” 

Castiel scanned the suddenly loose and slack lines of Jensen’s body. 

“”Fuck, Cas,” Jensen groaned again, sticking his hand into his shorts and looking at the mess laced over his fingers. 

Castiel leaned forward with a curious look in his eyes, he gave Jensen’s hand a tentative sniff. Then his tongue darted out for a quick taste. 

“Sweeter than mine,” Castiel said thoughtfully. 

Jensen groaned again and rolled off the dining table, he sunk to his knees. “May I Cas?” 

Castiel stared down at Jensen, at his longer hair and scruffier cheek, which was hidden from this angle by high freckled cheekbones. 

“Yes you may,” Castiel said slowly. 

Jensen parted the trenchcoat reverently and tugged on Castiel’s belt buckle. Castiel placed his hands behind his back, his wrist in his fist. He offered Jensen no assistance, merely spreading his legs into a comfortable standing stance. 

“Cocky huh,” Jensen said in Dean’s gruff voice. 

“I prefer the term penis,” Castiel said in a cool calm tone as Jensen pulled him free from his pants, the flaps of the white dress shirt draped softly either side. 

“I thought you’d be flustered and shy,” Jensen mumbled. “Not, not commanding like this.” 

“I like your adoration for love,” Castiel replied. “It is very pleasing and therefore you on your knees is a most welcome form of worship. And though it is likely hubris, I would like to enjoy your desire without coyness. Swallow it up, it is for you.” 

And so Jensen did, without reservation and it was the same heft and size that he was used to but also different. Castiel tasted a little blander, cleaner almost, his skin even softer and silkier than Misha’s. There was less body hair and more burning hotness that rammed down Jensen’s throat, lodging satisfyingly in his windpipe, and the burst of saltiness at the end reminded him of choking on seawater, burning saline on gluttonous tongue, drowning him in satisfaction. 

Misha was going to be so mad.


	5. Chapter 5

Misha let the rage fill up his chest cavity, pushing out the terrifying fear. Terror had been his constant friend for the last ten years. A whole decade of dreadful expectation, summing up in this one moment, Misha clutched the angel blade tighter and struck out his arm with all his might. 

He hadn’t felt this free in years. 

The last thing he remembers before he was brought back was the pain. They say when you are mortally wounded you hardly felt a thing, well that’s not how a gut wound went and those people were fucking liars because they never died and came back to tell the tale. Misha remembered everything. He was in an alley, his hands by his face, crying and begging for his life. Some madman, an angel according to him, was sinking a freaking prop into his stomach. While the pain and fear tore through him, the strange thought occurred also that he was going to miss out for the rest of the season of Supernatural. He’d just be that, some guest star murdered by some weird militant viewer. A blurb in the production newsletter. Maybe someone will email his family as a gesture of good will. Jensen, one of the stars of the show, seemed pretty kind so he would probably start some sort of donation drive. It was all so pitifully anticlimactic. Misha had planned to be be great, his Castiel was a completely out of the box weirdo and badass and he was going to make him a fucking awesome character, except now he was fucking dying and beautiful Jensen was off in his trailer gym exercising with his gorgeous costar/best friend Jared and Misha was going to be found looking very unattractively frozen and gutted in the morning. He bit his own lip so hard it split. It was fucking unfair. And so very painful. And then it was over. Nothingness. 

Then light. Light and heat and life flowing back into him, the sound of rain and Latin, read in that soft Texan accent. Then eyes, green sad eyes, burning with hopeful expectation, crinkling up and twisting shut, crying and laughing and the dark warmth of burying his face in Jensen’s chest, being hugged and feeling alive. There were weird drawings on the ground and candles all around, like they were doing some resurrection scene on set, the props strewn all around, bloodied knife and dried up bits of feather and gore, the scent of incense and a plastic bowl, sprayed copper to look metal, chipped in one corner. Jensen was checking his pulse, like he knew the guys was no fucking medic but he sure looked professional at doing it. Didn’t he say he had studied to be a physio for five minutes, in between the modelling and being the hottest actor Misha has ever seen walking and breathing in real life? What the hell was going on, maybe it was all a crazy hallucination, maybe he had finally done mushrooms, maybe supernatural was real and this was Dean Winchester, maybe he was a fallen angel brought back from death, maybe he was going to throw up. Then nothing again. 

The drip made him feel cold. The beeping of the machines gave him a headache. There was a hand on his, fingers threaded through his and for a minute he thought his family was there. Then he opened his eyes to see Jensen sitting by his hospital bed, and that sense of being looked after by family didn’t go away. 

“You were mugged,” Jensen said, the explanation offered without being asked for. Like he had over-rehearsed a script. “You needed some stitches for your lip but everything is fine, isn’t that great?” 

Misha said nothing, just watched the nervous tension in Jensen’s chiselled jaw. 

“Did you join a cult?” His voice was Castiel level raspy. “The candles.”

“What you talking about, you hit your head?” Jensen mumbled. “They CT scanned you, said you might be a little concussed, maybe you saw some weird things.” 

“Yeah, like dying.” 

“Let’s not get too dramatic,” Jensen cleared his throat. “Seriously, how you feeling?” 

“Alive. Weirdly.” 

“I heard you shout in the alley set, I was taking a workout break, found you face planted in the dirt. Got you to hospital. Lucky for you I chickened out of my plank, you coulda frozen … to death.” 

Jensen seemed to have trouble getting the last couple of words out and Misha could have asked more questions but he was warm and drugged up on painkillers and Jensen was beyond handsome even under fluorescent lights. He pulled off the sheets and blankets cover him with one hand, the drip in his elbow hurting reassuringly as he did so, he tugged at his patient’s gown, not caring that Jensen was going to see his genitals as he hiked the fabric up to his sternum. 

He stared down at the perfectly pristine flesh there, the abs he had been working on since being told he needed to bulk up a bit to play Castiel looked rippled and his dick was as well hung as ever. Jensen was staring too, swallowing noisily as he looked from abdomen to groin, his face flushed with colour. He was cute like that. 

“I’m a grower,” Misha teased as he covered himself again. “Far more impressive when I’m hard.” 

Jensen swore softly under this breath, his whole chest hunching over as he burst out into laughter, the laughing grew hysterical and incessant, he face planted the messy bed sheets, burrowing his face into Misha’s shoulder, the tears seeping through to his skin. Misha raised a trembling hand to pat him on the back of the head. 

“Hey, uh, Jensen is it?” He said, of course he knew his name but they were barely on first name terms. “It’s alright Jen.”

Jensen was sobbing now, not saying anything and showing no signs of drying up. 

“Hey Jen, thanks, thanks for saving me,” Misha wrapped his non-cannulated arm around Jensen in a pathetic offer of comfort. He couldn’t work out why Jensen was so upset. “Look at you, real big star, actual hero. I might have to buy you a drink.” 

Jensen laughed again, his whole body shaking and Misha just held him, nice and close and it was nice to feel alive again. 

=<3=<3=<3=

The dreams started not long after he got out of hospital. Misha was weirded out by the whole experience but as the days went on it became a little easier to compartmentalise. From the time Jensen and Jared started behaving like Dean and Sam, to the ‘mugging’ in the alleyway on set, the whole production of Supernatural was plagued with weirdness. Still, Jensen was around alot after the ordeal. He’d been friendly enough before and occasionally Misha had wondered if maybe Jensen liked him. Liked liked him. It had been like a dance, comments back and forth, getting in each other’s way and then going out of their way to avoid things coming to a head. Now it was different. Now Jensen was around alot. And the way he looked at Misha sometimes like Misha was some sort of miracle. It was weird and Misha was never one for freaking out on the weird but this, even for him, was weird. 

Then things got weirder. 

Lucid dreams, character dreams. Character bleeds were one thing, like Misha was no stranger to that. Actors had sensitive receptors and having someone else live under his skin had happened before. But this, dreaming of the Supernatural world, on a nightly basis, being Castiel in the dream and seeing Jensen and Jared there as Dean and Sam was a whole other level of character hemorrhaging. Misha thought about getting some counselling but really what were they gonna tell him that he couldn’t work out for himself? It was first long term job where he had felt so strangely, inextricably connected to his coworkers. And as good looking as Jensen was and as kind as he was Misha didn’t think any idle crush could explain what he was experiencing. 

Sometimes he dreamt of things happening with Dean and Sam long before the script hit his desk. Castiel’s fall, the Michael sword and Lucifer sword, team free will. All that had seemed more than real in his dreams long before the writers decided he could play a bigger part in Season Four. 

Another thing that caused him great disquiet was the appearance of Anael. She came to hospital once, not long after he woke up, a beautiful woman with a charming air. Jensen had looked upon her with awe and introduced her to Misha as his new friend. He called her an ‘angel’ and that rubbed Misha up the wrong way something fearsome. Not that Jensen couldn’t call anyone else an angel, but it was too close to ‘my angel’. So he didn’t say much to her and she didn’t ask many questions, just looked at him with her bambi blue eyes and said that he looked good. When she was leaving and Jensen was following her out, Misha finally asked a question. 

“You dating her?” It had come out way more intrusive than he intended, it wasn’t really his place to ask. 

Jensen looked taken aback. “What? No, she’s a friend. Why? You wanna ask her out?” 

And the look on his face was so serious that Misha found it hard to do anything other than glibly grinning and saying “Yeah sure why the fuck not.” 

“I don’t think she hangs out much here, in Vancouver or in LA,” Jensen said brusquely. “She lives in Europe, just comes and visits sometimes. Wouldn’t work out Mish. Not with our schedule. I mean, unless you wanted to date someone on set …” 

Was that his in? Was that an opportunity Jensen was waving at him? Misha shrugged. 

“I don’t come to shoot often enough for that.” 

It was just an excuse, just a easy way out, no pressure on Jensen while his star was rising and no more weirdness for Misha. 

Except, couple of days later, his agent called and told him the role of Castiel was now expanded and though the show was on its last season maybe a rabbit would be pulled out of the hat. A stable paycheck and more Jensen. 

So if sometimes at night, in quiet waking dreams, he thought he was Castiel, that was alright. 

=<3=<3=<3=

When Jensen was busy shooting the mid episodes for Seaon Four, Misha had a few weeks to himself. He flew into LA and asked around and sure enough found Anael checked into the Four Seasons. She didn’t seem surprised to see him in the lobby of the luxury hotel and accepted his offer of buying her a drink with a ready smile. For a second he wondered if she was some sort of exclusive escort Jensen saw discreetly but she told him she was an art dealer and that Jensen and her had been through some ordeal that brought them closer. She was interested in becoming an actress she said and would much appreciate Misha sharing his craft. 

She was also a witch and a couple of scotch and sodas later she had him in her hotel room chanting out of a notebook that looked like a prop stolen from the Supernatural set. A fun little love spell she said, to bring him his heart’s desire. 

What it did bring was Jensen, charging in through the door with his face unaccountably stern. 

“Jared said I’d find you here, oh hey Anael, sorry um just here for my friend Misha.” 

Misha endured a long lecture from Jensen about taking precautions and living life in the slow lane by which he figured Jensen meant don’t go to so many parties and have sex with different interesting people. And Misha was like how else was he supposed to forget about his gaping character black hole, the whole sucked into Supernatural universe experience, feeling like a dead man walking and his whole real life was a lacklustre dream - but sitting in Jensen’s car as he floored it out of California - Dean style petulant and non-communicative somehow made him feel better than being away. It had felt right to return to set with Jensen and accept his fate, as a Supernatural star. His face appeared in the promotional poster, about a quarter the size of Dean’s, staring intently into the camera. 

A couple of days of being holed up in Jensen’s trailer (sure he had a key he could leave anytime he wanted, but Jensen had a massage chair, and a plasma, and if Misha complained about his phantom stomach pains Jensen would dig into the pressure points in his back and obsessively offer him lavender tea and everytime Misha talked about sex he would get this tick in his left eye that was fucking endearing) he found out that he liked being around Jensen entirely too much. He slept too much better on Jensen’s couch drifting off to the sounds of sports games that Jensen was absorbed in watching in his room. He came harder and faster when he masturbated in the shower if he could hear Jensen making food in the tiny trailer kitchen. He cried less and felt comforted if he crawled into Jensen’s bed after a nightmare. Sometimes he felt like Castiel nestling into Dean when Jensen held him. Sometimes they were just them and that was even sweeter. 

So of course Misha wasn’t going to fuck it all up by fucking Jensen.

[](https://picsart.com/i/image-destiel-destieledit-deancas-supernatural-295695195078201)via PicsArt

The second time he saw Anael was in a bar in Rome, attending one of those conventions where Misha didn’t know what to do so he just raised his eyebrows and smiled and dominated the fuck out of the audience until they were on his side. Jensen was busy that night, he’d flown out early to get back to LA for more meetings to help sell the show to another network. There wasn’t much hope but Jensen and Jared were determined and as the headliners they had sway. 

It had looked as if she was waiting for him, just sitting there in the glittering streetlights, her hand in the mouth of the fountain, playing with the flow of water. 

“Hey, Misha,” she said turning to him, the opera crown in her hair glittering. “Heard Jensen is working on getting more show, I was hoping to meet him here but word is he’s flown out already?” 

Misha thought the whole scene had an orchestrated feel to it, but he wasn’t scared or anything. He took her to a bar and they had a few drinks and then they went for a walk, the streets emptying out even for Rome. 

“Do you think the show will go on?” She had said with a lilting voice. 

“I know it goes on,” Misha said. “There are … seasons … of Leviathan and Purgatory and even a Nephilim.” 

Anael cocked an eyebrow, her dimples showing. “I don’t think even the writers know about those. What’s your source?” 

Misha stared at the shadows. “I’ve lived them.” 

“You think you are Castiel? Talk about falling for your own hype.” 

“I think I’m connected to him and he is real. And I’ve dreamt of you too. You’re an angel from one of the later seasons. You’re untrustworthy and clever and you always show up when we need you.” 

Anael smiled sweetly. “Well that’s saved me a whole lot of exposition.” 

“You know the one thing my dreams never explain, the bit that’s always hidden, is how I came back to life.” 

Anael tilted her head, her brown wavy hair dripping thickly over her right shoulder. “Got any kick theories?” 

“I don’t think I’m supposed to exist, I think I’m an aberration,” Misha said. “Something unnatural.” 

“Aww, that’s harsh.” Anael said teasingly. “Is that the reason for all this .. hedonism? The guys, the gals, the whole not being exclusive with Jensen thing?” 

“The bond between Dean and Castiel is profound,” Misha said flatly. “Jensen and I are just friends.” 

“Of course,” Anael nods with a grin. “That’s where this story is headed.” 

“You want something from me,” Misha glared at her. “Tell me how you got to know Jensen, the real story.” 

“I’m kind of tired of telling stories,” Anael laughed. “What I can tell you is this, the crossroads deals, from your television show. You could pull that off. Not everyone here can but when it comes to you the rules don’t apply. The supernatural, technically, doesn’t exist here. Except when it comes to you.” 

“Because I am supernatural, right,” Misha said bitterly. “Because I should be dead like 12 months ago. Who did it? Who sold their soul? Who made the deal?” 

Anael placed her hand over Misha’s wrist, her fingers digging in till he winced. 

“Don’t think I won’t teach you a lesson just because you’re useful,” Anael said, her eyes glowing. Then she was gone. 

=<3=<3=<3=

Jensen and Jared invited Misha out to dinner when his filming wrapped up for Season Five. It was just the three of them, only Misha was finishing up, while Jensen and Jared still had episodes to film. So it was a low key affair, just steaks at a nice restaurant near the condo Jensen and Misha were now sharing. They were flatmates, though no doubt some people thought they were more than that. Living with Jensen was in one word lovely. And apart from the whole constantly wanting to fuck him thing, Misha thought it a delightful arrangement. The lust he could curb somewhat by going out with other people, he didn’t bring them home because somehow that felt wrong. So he disappeared for days on end and flew in and out of Canada but he always went back to the little condo they rented on the harbour and talked about maybe one day going in halves on a boat. 

After some medium rare feast and a bleeding beetroot salad fit for the gods, Jensen broke the news to Misha. 

“It’s not looking good, we’ve talked to all the networks, no one’s picking up the show,” Jensen said. 

“I got some theatre work lined up,” Jared smiled. “Jensen’s thinking about investing in a brewing factory back in Texas.” 

“I’ll keep modelling and auditioning,” Jensen said, grinning. “Who knows might end up playing Captain America.” 

Misha could tell the lighthearted conversation was being put on for his benefit so he brought everyone another round of drinks and sat back and watched the inebriation kick in. Jensen was an adorable drunk, he never wiped himself out, just sat burping and giggling and more often than not staring into Misha’s eyes like a lovelorn fool. And maybe he was more upset about the show ending than he let himself process because suddenly it occurred how wrong it felt. How inconsistent finishing up in the fifth year seemed when he had lived all the other lives Castiel had far beyond where the scripts were at now. When Jared called for his cab, Misha pulled Jensen into the car with him and drove carefully towards their condo. 

“I gotta show you something,” Jensen said. “It’s in front of the apartmentment. Little present. To say bye.” 

Misha had expected some extravagant gesture because Jensen was a soppy guy and always too generous, but when he saw the sailing boat moored in front of their door he lost it. The tears running down his face, too fast for him to catch. 

“Come on, lessee if you like it Mish, I put your name and mine on the paperwork, that okay Dmitri Krushnic?” 

Misha followed speechless into the hull, he had no idea how to sail. 

“This is our ship,” Jensen spread his arms out, hitting his hand into the side of the gulley kitchen. “I mean it's kinda generic but we’ll make it home. This can be your room and I wanna make the spare a music studio and now we have this its like our baby you gotta visit we gotta learn to sail her together and this can be our home after the show is over and I know we’ll stay friends cause you know I’ll be doing everything in my power to keep our friendship going and I’m never letting this whatever this is die out …” 

And Jensen wouldn’t shut up about the ‘friendship’ and he kept talking and talking and it was ripping Misha’s heart out to hear Jensen so sincere and distraught and so of course he had to kiss him. And it was like diving out of the sky and headlong into an oceanic abyss and the whole not fucking Jensen thing went out the window with the life jacket and the parachute. 

It was awful and it was fantastic, pinning Jensen to the wall of the hull, in the empty boat, letting him kiss back and bite and sigh and writhe. Laying Jensen out on the ground, with just Misha’s bulky red jumper for a layer of padding for his knees. Settling himself over him, improvising with saliva, biting the globe of those firm cheeks and digging out the condom and lube he always carried in his wallet and Jensen swearing that he didn’t care he wanted Misha as is. And Misha told Jensen to stop being stupid and of course they had to be safe and Jensen begging for closeness and Misah blurting out that they can fuck skin on skin soon as they both got tested and were cleared. Because he fucking wanted Jensen as a lover and that was as good a marriage proposal from Misha. 

And Jensen sure didn’t hold back, Jensen took everything Misha had to offer. Jesen who was not that experienced and slightly freaked out and totally enthusiastic. Jenen who gave as good as he got, fucking Misha into a quiet thoughtful stupor. 

Two days later, after his flight landed in LA, Misha buried a box at a crossroad between an orange grave and an art gallery. A guy showed up, his face too dark to see with the headlights behind him, but he had blue eyes that glinted like irridescent monarch butterflies.

And Supernatural was snapped up for ten more seasons. 

And Jensen and he fucked on the regular. 

Just like that. 

He didn’t see anyone else after he and Jensen got together, but Misha let Jensen think that he did. Ten years and then hellhounds. Going steady would just make things worse for Jensen when the decade was up. 

=<3=<3=<3= 

Misha sliced the blade in thin air, he thought could hear a whimper just outside the range of human hearing. Or maybe that was Anael over in her corner, flourishing two blades and fighting as hard as she could. He didn’t think he was going to actually resist when the time came. Ten years ago he would have walked into the mouth of hell with little regret. But a decade with Jensen loving him made him gluttonous for life. And what was all the point of all that stunt training if he wasn’t at least going to put up a fight. Anael’s last minute contact to say she would help him on the night his contract was up had been a surprise. She had been on the periphery, sometimes hanging out with Jensen, for years. There was something of a truce between her and Misha. He had a dream once that in another universe a version of her and Jensen were more than friends. 

Anael had made good on her promise, the hotel suite she booked was well stocked with salt and holy water and angel blades. He had flown out of Vancouver when his filming schedule had finished, leaving Jensen had been hard, he intentionally didn’t go down to the pier where their boat was moored. It stored too many memories that would make going away too painful. 

Knowing his time was up meant prioritising sparing Jensen the pain of seeing him ripped apart by hellhounds. Running to Anael had been unexpected but she seemed genuinely moved by Misha’s renewed courage and agreed to do all she could in her power to fight the hellhounds. 

Getting the phone call from Jensen about Castiel materialising out of thin air was an unexpected twist. By the time he hung up, Anael had killed the last creature. She stood panting and frowning, throwing her blades to the ground. They had made it out alive, barely. 

“You took a cell phone call?” She said accusingly. “Really couldn’t let it go to message?” 

“It was Jensen,” Misha said. “I needed to hear his voice.” 

Anael sighed and rolled her eyes. 

“Yeah, as romantic as that is, I’m done,” she said. “This is supposed to be my happy place, I don’t go on vacation to tangle with hellhounds. This universe is getting way too intense for me. I’m out. Go see your lover boy and his new squeeze. The hounds will be back, but maybe the angel Castiel could help you more than I can. Good luck.” 

She flew away in a flurry of indignant anger. 

And Misha thought, the real Castiel, who is that anyway? 

Some alternative universe insertion, or is Castiel under his own skin now. Could he not wield that will and intellect and be the hero to his own story? 

So he headed for the one place he belonged, hellhounds on his heels, for home. 

=<3=<3=<3=


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel stood under the sails while Jensen ran to greet Misha. The man walking down the jetty looked thinner and wearier. He paused when he saw Castiel, laughed and then kept walking, jumping over the stern of the ship with practiced ease. 

“Better get her in the ocean,” was all Misha said as he brushed past Castiel and headed into the hull. 

Jensen made quick work of the sails and within a few moments they were sailing again, the dock disappearing quickly from view. 

Castiel returned to the cabin to find Misha sitting at the kitchen table, an empty teacup in his hands, the kettle quietly bubbling. 

“What are you looking at?” He muttered when Castiel sat opposite him, eyes wide as he scanned the bruises and scratches visible on Misha. 

“Those are hellhound marks,” Castiel said quietly. “I smell them on you too.” 

“Hello Castiel, I’m Misha Collins, I play you sometimes,” Misha said glibly. “Stay out of my business.” 

“You are going to need my help, so you may as well tell me what happened. Tell Jensen too.”

Misha looked down at his cup then up at Castiel again. “You really do look like me.” 

Castiel smiled faintly. 

“But you’re nothing like me,” Misha said. “You’re brave and loyal and … chaste.” 

Castiel licked his lip nervously. Misha’s eyes narrowed. “Damnit Jen,” he sighed. 

“It’s the angel kink,” Misha rolled his eyes. “Whatever, I’d do the same if I ever met Dean.” 

It was Castiel’s turn to narrow his eyes. 

“Relax, not like I’m gonna get to meet him,” Misha said. “So how did you get here?” 

“A spell from Anael.” 

“Of fucking course,” Misha swore. “She’s an angel too right? I dreamt about her. Always showing up at the right time and right place with the worst ideas. I got the crossroads idea from her.” 

“You sold your soul?” 

“Didn’t seem worth anything, the way I came back, so yeah I sold it for ten more years of the show. Didn’t think the deal would go through to be honest, surprised I still had one.” 

“You need to tell Jensen,” Castiel said. 

“Tell me what?” Jensen ducked inside the kitchen. “We’re in the open ocean now. We need to talk Misha.” 

“I made a deal, ten more seasons for my soul,” Misha said quickly, his eyes fixed on his empty vessel. 

“Fuck,” Jensen said and Misha flinched. “Fuck, what a dumb move.” 

Castiel watched as the colour drained from Misha’s face, he looked miserable. 

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Jensen flopped into the seat next to Misha, wrapping his arm around hunched shoulders. “What you did or what I did. Let me make you the tea and tell you just what kind of man you’ve called your friend all these years.” 

Misha looked mystified as Jensen made the tea, filling three mugs with steamy green liquid. He saw the red woolen jacket left on the bench and pulled it over Misha’s shoulders to warm him up. 

“You look like the cat dragged you in,” Jensen touched his fingers gently to a dark spot on Misha’s neck. “Tell me you at least enjoyed getting this one.” 

‘It’s not a love bite,” Misha said, catching Jensen’s fingers. “I was with Anael but we were fighting hellhounds. They were trying to collect on the deal.”

“I made a deal too,” Jensen whispered. “It was me that brought you back.” 

Misha looked at him with wide eyes. 

“I’ll kill every last hound that comes for you, or die trying,” Misha said. 

Jensen shook his head. “They’re not coming for my soul. That’s not what I traded. Anael told me that if I wanted to bring you back, I’d have to offer what mattered to me most, the show. So I did. Ten years of the show and then I have to end it, or you drop dead.” 

“I was already gone when you found me?” 

“Jared and I were in the trailer all those years ago, when that rogue angel assassin guy attacked you. We ran out and Jared chased after him. I held you and you were already bleeding out and she was there. Right there in her car, telling me to put you inside, then she drove us to the crossroads and there was a guy there and he asked me how badly I wanted you back. I couldn’t see his face, just his eyes…” 

“They were so blue,” Misha echoed. 

Castiel pulled out his cell and flicked through his camera roll. “This shade of blue?” 

The butterfly in Anael’s hand in the image was so vivid it looked like it might flutter out of the screen. 

Jensen and Misha nodded. 

“It’s a set up, she wanted both of you to make the deals.” Castiel paused. “But it doesn’t add up. I can’t use any of my powers here so why are there hellhounds. Why did your deal work? How did Misha come back to life. And who is the blue eyed man at the crossroads?” 

“I don’t understand,” Jensen said. “What do you mean?” 

“He means it’s all smoke and mirrors, special effects, there’s no magic here,” Misha said. “The ritual you did, my crossroads deal, we both think it worked because well I’m alive. But what if I’m alive because of something else entirely?”

Castiel nodded, Misha really was very intelligent. 

“But why, to mess with our heads?” Jensen said. “She made it seem so real, such a fair trade. She told me after ten years, once I end the show, all my wealth and fame and status will slowly ebb away. And I made peace with that. I even asked Jared not to renew his, so that the show could end for sure. He’s been real good about it, even though I know he doesn’t really want to. I just, I figured much as I love working with you Misha, I want to be with you more than anything else. Or if I can’t be with you, I just wanna know you’re good. Maybe see your career take off while I chill out in retirement. Because as much as I love acting and singing and being creative, they’re just passions. You’re worth giving up everything for because you are all my songs and all my soul.” 

Castiel watched the spots of colour rising to Misha’s cheeks. “Well, that’s stupid.” 

Jensen’s hurt was unmistakable. 

“You should never give up your passion for love,” Misha said fervently. “No love is worth giving up who you are for. You define it, not the other way around. Fuck love! Fuck being in love. I’ve been in love with you for years and years and look where it’s gotten us. Two fools with our hands tied, adrift.” 

“Yeah,” Jensen said softly, his eyes affixed to Misha’s mouth. “And I’m glad that’s how it ends.” 

Then they were kissing and kissing some more. Castiel stood up to leave them to their own devices. It was too difficult watching Misha press Dean, no Jensen, into the wall and lick his way up his neck. 

“I think you are sitting on my trench coat,” Castiel muttered, embarrassed. 

Misha’s hand darted out and caught his wrist. 

Jensen made a disgruntled noise and gasped out “Sit Cas.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Sit here,” Misha pulled on Castiel’s arm, tugging him into the cramped space between the wall, the dining table, the padded bench, Jensen’s chest, Jensen’s lap, Misha’s legs. “Kiss Jensen.” 

“Hellhounds,” Castiel managed to mumble before Misha stole his breath. “But …”

Jensen stroked his face, saying in a dark syrupy voice “Touch the angel Mish.” 

And there there were hands, hot human hands, familiar and alien all at once, on his front and his back. Shifting him and turning him around and laying him flat out on the dining table and pushing a rolled up red jumper under his hip and mouths. Two. Meandering their way up his thighs, tongues laving crookedly over the lines of his ribs, the press of an erection to his cheek and another between his legs. And judging by the freckled darkened pink flesh blocking his view Jensen was taking him by the face while Misha could be heard snapping on a condom. There was no time to think or wonder or rue. There was only sensation and fluids and flesh. And not completely in that order and it was blissful. 

“Relax your jaw so you can take him all in,” Misha instructed. “He tastes good right and the girth is wild.” 

Castiel made choked sounds of awe while Jensen rocked back and forth, all shuddering sighs and fingers over Castiel’s scalp. 

“Pace him, please. I’ll sort you out first,” Misha said generously. “Then I’ll give Jensen a good go.” 

“I wanna, in his mouth,” Jensen said brokenly. 

“Yes, of course,” Misha replied. “I meant I’ll fuck him then you.” 

Jensen whimpered but Castiel pushed him out of his mouth and said with a stern expression. “You heard him, not yet.” 

Jensen let out a forlorn moan and Castiel lost himself in the sound of it, giving in to unexpected hedonistic delights. 

=<3=<3=<3=

The ship sailed in darkness, then there was a bright approaching light. 

It woke Castiel. When the angel stirred the two humans pulled their entangled limbs loose and looked out at the speedboat fast gaining on them. 

It was Jensen who managed to get dressed enough to go up first. 

The man who jumped off the speedboat was tall and lanky, he carried a full backpack and a duffle. The baggage jangled and clanged as he brought them in. 

Jared sniffed the air delicately then laughed. Not even flinching when he saw Misha and Castiel lying in the bed together. 

“I knew there was something off about you,” Jared said to Castiel. “So what is this? Endverse? Doppleganger? Siren?” 

“French Mistake alt verse,” Jensen replied behind Jared. 

“Ah, yeah thought they might do that one again,” Jared said, shaking his duffle triumphantly. “So I got a call from your friend Anael, she said she was leaving town but she filled me in on a couple of things, so anyway here is every angel blade prop from set, anyone got a knife sharpener?” 

=<3=<3=<3=

There was some intense arguing between Jensen and Jared. Even Misha stepped in and tried to convince Jared to go home to his family, but the actor was determined to stay. 

“You’ll get killed,” Misha said. “They’re real hellhounds, I barely got out alive and there was an angel helping me.” 

“So, Cas is an angel, and a better fighter than Anael I bet,” Jared said with a smirk. 

“I’m not sure if I can hold them all off…” Castiel said. “But perhaps if we lure the hellhounds here and then all of you evacuate to the speedboat, I could perhaps try to smite them. Or at least take some out with the blades.”

“Oh, it’s a let Cas sacrifice himself plotline is it?” Misha said bitterly. “I don’t like those odds.” 

“They’re what we got,” Castiel said. 

A shudder ran through the boat, the waves undulated violently outside, a flash of light lit up the interior and a shape fell out of a patch of shadow. 

Dean rolled onto his feet, standing up with an angel blade in one hand and his gun in the other, hellhound glasses perched over his nose. “Let’s even up the odds guys.” 

He was wearing a princess crown which sparkled with magic. 

“Anael told me you folks might need some help,” Dean said, looking at Castiel sitting on the bed with Misha without his trenchcoat on with a funny expression. “Uh, you guys um fighting?” 

Castiel blushed fiercely while Misha laughed. “Yeah, been fighting real hard, super hard.” 

“You watch that smart mouth heh Mee-sha?” Dean reprimanded. 

Misha winked at him. Dean looked away, his cheeks burning. 

“Come on Cas, we got hellhounds to kill.” 

=<3=<3=<3=

The first thing they saw were the ripples in the water, like invisible sharks carving through the waves. 

“There’s a lot of them,” Dean cursed. “And they look real enough.”

Then they were on top of the hull, their feet running over the metal loudly. Then they were through the door, bending and breaking the whole thing. Jared, super brave and super strong, started lashing out with the fireplace poker. He had the upper hand for a minute or so, before the surprised creatures rounded on him, it took Castiel slashing his way to Jared’s side to get him into a place of relative safety. 

Misha yelled when Jensen was winged, the shirtsleeve on his arm ripping into shreds. He slashed at the air like a madman, grunting and rotating quickly. Jensen, athletically, vaulted over the furniture and tried to get onto the other side of Misha to defend him. Between the two of them, the squelch and spurts of blood indicated they hit some of their marks. The two humans worked hard together while Castiel and Dean tried to take down as many of the hellhounds as possible as quickly as possible. It felt like they almost had the pack when the waters began frothing with incoming. There were too many. Then Jensen went down, one knee buckling and his jeans shredding, the blood flooding out of his thigh. He was bleeding out. 

Misah screamed, pushing his hands over the wound. He was yelling at the thin air, offering his already traded soul, his mind, his body, anything to have Jensen back. 

“No Mish, ‘s mistake,” Jensen put his hand on Misha’s cheek. “Not worth it. Dumb move ‘member?”

Misha cradled Jensen’s head in his lap, his tears dripping into Jensen’s messed up hair. He whispered in Jensen’s ear and then he let go. 

Misha had gone ballistic, throwing himself into the fray. Dean and Castiel watched amazed as Misha, eyes glowing blue, tore through the creatures one by one. The air was thick with the sound of wounded hounds, the floor slippery with inky blood. 

“How is he powering this?” Dean hissed to Castiel. 

Castiel shook his head. 

When the last hound was dead, Misha dropped the angel blades. Jensen, passed out from blood loss, lay dead still. 

“He’s … gone,” Castiel tried to stop Misha from approaching the body. 

“No he’s not,” Misha said, running his hands over Jensen, closing his eyes and letting the tear run down his face. “The power of love heals.” 

Misha’s eyes took on an unearthly glow, his hand poised over the gaping wound. 

Jensen gasped, coughing violently as the air re-entered his lungs. 

Castiel looked over at Dean and frowned. 

While Jensen and Misha and Jared cheered for their victory, Dean and Castiel join hands and touch the crown. There was no fond goodbye. 

=<3=<3=<3=

“He is too unstable,” Castiel said to Dean. “You saw him, he could heal like an angel.” 

“His eyes,” Dean looked into Castiel’s eyes. “They look familiar to you?” 

“The blue eyed man,” Castiel replied. “It was like looking into a mirror and seeing the devil looking back.” 

“So what do we do? Go back and finish them off?” 

“No,” Castiel held the crown in his hand. “We lock them in.”

With one sharp tap against the wall, the whole jewel shattered. 

And then nothing more happened, no end of the world as they knew it. They had called Anael’s bluff.

And the world spun on, many earths.

[](https://picsart.com/i/gif-supernatural-paralleluniverse-manyworlds-295662423024201)via PicsArt

They didn’t talk much at the final wrap party. Jared had an early flight to catch for Texas, he was coming to be best man at the wedding. 

Jensen walked back to his trailer to do one last check of anything that’s been left behind. Sure enough he found his red jumper, the one with the orange and yellow bars running down the front, the one they had tucked under Castiel’s hips… Jensen picked it up and carefully folded it, cradling it to his chest. He almost missed the bundle of papers on his coffee table. When he picked it up and looked at it, the logo on the front page made him draw a sharp breath. 

“It’s a Marvel script,” Jensen gasped to Misha. “Promise you didn’t do another deal?” 

“Of course not,” Misha laughed. “Made that mistake already, gotta make fresh ones now.” 

“It’s not a mistake to marry me,” Jensen leaned in. “I promise.” 

The wedding was going to happen on the Jetty and they were going to sail off in their ship for their honeymoon. Misha had planned the whole trip, they had a few weeks and maybe they were going to get as far as the Mediterranean. 

It was going to be a perfect day. 

=<3=<3=<3=

Misha stretched and quietly slipped out of bed. Jensen was sound asleep, worn from the relentless honeymoon games. The moon was low and round and they were in the Agean sea by his calculations. He could navigate with a single look at the stars. Alot had changed since his return but the heavens were a constant. 

It had taken patience and time to acquire this vessel. Misha had been stubborn right up until the hellhounds killed his lover. Then he had pledged himself to the Erotes. Anything for Jensen’s life. And who was Anteros to deny a true lover that. He stood looking at the stars for sometime, until Jensen came outside and lovingly draped a red sweater over his shoulders. Misha wore the foul garment just as well as Anteros wore Misha. 

The End.


End file.
